Daggers in the Snow: Don't Call Me Dovahkiin
by Fira Astrali
Summary: Two Thieves Guild cronies are sent on a mission to steal a priceless artifact, while a proud nord warrior is summoned by Jarl Balgruff to face an oncoming terror. While their lives have followed two very different paths, their destinies will soon be fused in fire, and a journey through the heart of skyrim is about to begin... whether they like it or not. (Please R&R!)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Hello all! Just a quick author's note to let you know that there WILL be spoilers for Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. If you enjoy, please review! I love to hear from you!

XxX

"What do you want, urchin?" the gruff prison guard growled at an approaching dunmer. She'd spent enough nights in the prisons for him to recognize her.

"I'm just here to collect Thiessen this time," she replied with a smile. The guard grunted, and opened the door.

"Be quick about it, you rats are littering up my jail."

"Yes sir." She stepped out onto the familiar wooden landing, hurrying through the nearest doorway and into the first bank of cells. She didn't like it in the Riften jail, it smelled like mouldy hay and sadness. It was early in the morning, and most of the poor wretches were asleep on their straw beds. For some, it was better than what they were used to, sleeping on mats in the sewers. She tried not to think too much about it, continuing on to the very last cell, which was open with two guards standing at the door.

"Morning, Ransom," said the nearest one, a woman that usually patrolled the market.

"Morn' Ura," Ransom replied politely, "Morn' Balgrun."

"Ransom," grunted Ura's partner. "You make sure this one stays out of trouble from now on eh? I don't want to see him back in my jail." Ransom chuckled.

"I'll do my best." Ura stepped back a little and allowed her entrance to the cell, where a thin khajiit was packing a small pack with various things. He was coloured like a cheetah, with luminous green eyes. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled a greeting. She replied by holding up a small bundle wrapped in cloth.

"I brought you breakfast, straight from The Ragged Flagon. Might still be warm."

"Thanks," he replied honestly, throwing the pack over his shoulder and taking the bundle. Inside was half a fresh loaf of bread and some cheese. His tail flicked back and forth with pleasure.

"Didn't you bring me anything there sweetheart?" a voice called loudly from across the hall. Ransom felt her ire raise. Only one man could own such an irritating, whiny voice. She took Thiessen's hand, both to lead him out of the cell, and so he could stop her from doing anything drastic.

"I'm sure they feed you just fine in here, Sibbi." She hurried to leave, pointedly ignoring him as they made their way past his cell.

"Come on now girlie, no need to be so cold. My mother would hate to hear that you'd been rude to me."

Ransom sighed audibly, then looked apologetically at Thiessen. "This'll only take a minute, go on to the Flagon without me?" Thiessen shook his head no, but she squeezed his hand and released it. He glanced at the two of them uncertainly.

"I'll catch you in the Ratway," he finally whispered, then tiptoed away with his usual feline grace. Ransom couldn't help but watch him go.

"Man, wish you'd look at me like that once in awhile," Sibbi purred. Ransom thought she might be nauseous.

"What do you want, Sibbi?" she asked shortly, stopping a safe distance from the bars of his lavishly decorated cell. It looked more like the private chambers of a king than a room on the wrong side of the hall of justice. Being part of one of the most powerful families in Skyrim does have its benefits. He looked her up and down in an appraising way, as if she was another piece of furniture for his cell. Though she was covered from crown to toe, she felt exposed under his gaze. She was surprised he didn't lick his lips.

"Just a little company, mother says I'm not allowed to have any of my usual ladies visit me but, they just can't stay away."

"Yes, I can imagine that they're just heartbroken that a lecher like you is off the streets for awhile. Can I go? I have better things to do that stroke your ego."

Sibbi smirked. "You should watch how you talk to me, wretch. Mother pulls your strings, and one day I just might make you dance."

I'll worry about that when it happens. Good day, Lord Blackbriar." Ransom gave him a very exaggerated bow, then turned on her heel and made for the door before he had a chance to say anything else. She ignored his demands for her to return, and instead made tracks out of the prison, into the dawning city of Riften.

The sun was coming up over the water, spilling wondrous shades of gold and orange onto the sullen grey stonework of the city. She picked her way down the uneven steps leading up to the jail, and rounded the high walls that barred it off from the rest of the city. She could see Thiessen's unusual colour off in the distance, and she ran to him. He was sitting at the landing of the stairs that would take them down to the Ratway, his legs swinging freely as he gazed down at the water. He turned just in time to see her before she threw her arms around in him a great bear hug.

"Aaaah! This one missed you so!" she squealed childishly. Thiessen laughed and returned her embrace.

"How could you miss me? You came to see me almost every day!" he teased. She sat down next to him to watch the sun play over the canal.

"I missed being able to lean on you. The bed's cold when you're not in it." She wrapped her long, narrow fingers around his hand. "Don't leave me like that again."

"Alright, from now on, if I'm going to get in trouble, I promise we'll be in trouble together. What did Sibbi want?"

"To picture me naked, like every other woman in this town. You'd think he'd pick someone a little more interested in him than me."

"You should be nicer to him you know... what will you do if he gets tired of your game and comes looking to get what he wants?"

"Then I'll gaff him," Ransom hissed threateningly, pulling a dagger she kept at her side out of its sheath a few centimetres, "and damn Maul and the rest of the Blackbriars to Oblivion if they don't like it." Thiessen automatically glanced around as she spoke, looking for anyone in earshot. Ransom's distaste for the family was no secret to him, but uttering such harsh words about Riften royalty was surely a one way ticket to disaster. No one seemed to be near, and he didn't dare press her anger any farther, so they sat in content silence together, watching the canal change colour in the sunrise. Ransom leaned her head on Theisson's shoulder, happy to enjoy the warmth of the burgeoning day and the khajiit both.

Thiessen stretched enjoyably on the straw mattress that he shared with the dunmer. She was perched on the edge, bent over a book as she chomped on a fresh apple. Only a few feet from her a waterfall of rainwater poured into the cistern below. Thiessen watched her face, bunched up in concentration. Reclining comfortably, he stayed silent as her deep blue eyes flitted over the pages, squinted and widened as the story unfolded, the edges of her lips twitching. The twin scars just below her lip danced in time to the story. He quietly lifted up his tufted tail and brushed it under her nose like a moustache. She jumped higher than she should have and swatted it away angrily.

"What in seven hells was that for!?" she snarled.

"I've been gone for six months, and you'd rather hear about Barenziah than spend time with me," he moaned pathetically, turning around in the bed so he could lay his head on her lap. She shoved him off with such force that he tipped off the bed and landed unceremoniously on the rough stone floor.

"Oy!" he cried in a laughing tone. Ransom glared at him angrily, but she could already see a smile playing at the edges of her mouth. He reached out a clawed hand tentatively, a sort of truce on his face.

"Hey, lovebirds!" Frey's permanently angry voice echoed through the cistern. He'd been calling them that since they were six years old. Ransom wasn't sure if he knew their real names. "On the double!" She grabbed Thiessen's hand and hefted him to his feet, and together they made their way through the secret passage and into the Ragged Flagon. Frey was sitting at a table off the side with Delvin. Ransom looked sideways uneasily at Thiessen. A quiet table normally meant a difficult or unsavory job. Delvin motioned for them to sit. They did.

"How you feeling?" Delvin asked the khajiit. He furrowed his brow.

"Well I just got out this morning, it's a little early to tell..." he replied in a measured tone, looking back and forth between Delvin and Frey. Delvin smirked at him.

"Well, best way to get back into the swing of things is to jump in with both feet!"

"We've got a job for you." Ransom tried not to sigh.

"It's not too bad, just a little five finger discount over in Riverwood."

"Riverwood!?" They both cried in unison. They'd hardly ever been out of the city, never mind days of travel away, and for only a bauble to remind the world that the guild was still around? Frey glared them down, and they obediently fell silent. As children Frey had never been shy about taking the switch to them, and their positions in the guild hadn't improved much since then. Delvin continued as if he'd never been interrupted.

"There's a little trading post with a mighty fine artifact, a golden claw. Apparently it's as old as the draugr in the nord crypts of Whiterun, and it'd be a nice jewel in our crown. No one else is looking to make the trek so it's all up to you two." Frey plopped a map down on the table and unrolled it.

"You'll follow the river 'til you hit the Sarethi Farm, just after that there is a bridge, and beyond that is Ivarstead. If you hurry, steal a couple horses on the way, you should make it in a day, maybe two. Just follow the river and you'll be fine."

"Frey..."

"From there it gets tricky, because it's a day's trek through the mountains."

"Frey please."

"If you make it, I trust that you two lovebirds will be able to figure out which one is the trading post." He stared over the map at both of them. They looked like they might be sick at the daunting prospect being laid out in front of them. "I honestly don't care what you two think of this mission. You've been living under this roof since you were tykes, you owe us your lives and I'll use them any way I like, but Delvin here thinks this mission should be worth something. So, I'll tell you what, you bring back this claw, and make damn sure everyone knows it was the guild that nabbed it, and we'll call it even. We'll start cutting you in on missions like everybody else."

Thiessen perked up a little at the suggestion. Rearing a child was expensive, and they'd been paying for it their entire lives. Every septum they made went back into the guild as recompense. He glanced at Ransom and shrugged. She didn't seem any more sure than she had been before. Not that it mattered, it wasn't like they could turn it down.

"When do we leave?"

"How long will it take you to pack?"

XxX

An ungodly roar echoed through the ancient halls as a finely carved sword hacked through yet another falmer, drowning out the horrible screaming of the wretched creatures. The young nord wielding the blade grinned as blood splashed across his face. His furs and studded leather armour was already drenched. The last creature fell, its detached head in his free hand.

"Impressive as always, Eyvindur," his older older companion announced, shaking the guts off his own axe. "Always an honour to watch a dragonborn in action." Eyvindur smiled and nodded respectfully, but he looked around the carnage with an expression approaching boredom. This was the second dwemer ruin in as many weeks that he had been charged with clearing, the vile beasts had been growing bolder as the moon waned, attacking nearby farms and dragging innocent nords and caravans to their horrifying deaths. Deaths that had left crimson evidence from one end of the ruin to another. Yet another stain on the world that he'd cleansed. Still, it was far from the calling of his ancestors.

"I only wish you could see me face true action, Herrgund" he grumbled in frustration, kicking a body out of his way as he made for the tunnels back to the surface. Herrgund shook his head no, his braids waving gently around his face.

"We should thank mighty Talos every day that your family hasn't been needed in centuries. Keeping our skyrim clean is as noble a task as killing dragons."

"But not the one I was born to do… Let's return to the inn and collect our things. Tomorrow we can start our trek back to Windhelm."

"I'm sure Ulfric will be pleased to hear of your success…" Herrgund glanced sideways as they ascended what was once a magnificent staircase. "He asks often if you have plans to wear the stormcloak colours."

"Of course I do. Nothing would give me more pleasure than to fight for mighty Talos like a true son of Skyrim, but what will I do if I make such allegiances and a dragon appears in imperial holds?"

"Let them burn to the ground," Herrgund hissed. The cold winter chill bit at his exposed face as surface air rushed past them. He looked up in time to see the ruined roof end and the starry night begin. Eyvindur took off his horned helm and shook out his hair, thick blond locks falling over his shoulders and shutting the frigid wind out from the parts of his neck that weren't already covered by his braided beard.

"As much as I would like to, I can't, I've sworn an oath on my family's honour. You know that."

"Of course…" The rest of their trek was taken in silence. A few hours of hiking through snow drifts and thick stands of birch trees got them around and past Lake Yorgrim, and they could see the fires of Nightgate Inn blazing up ahead. There was someone waiting at the door, looking nervous, a redguard man. Herrgund eyed him suspiciously, but Eyvindur recognized him as a courier from Whiterun.

"What news have you?" he asked gruffly.

"Jarl Balgruuf the Greater commands you to come to Whiterun immediately. Something terrible has happened at Helgen."


	2. Chapter 2

_How to steal a horse, lesson number one: Be sneaky. If you can't be sneaky, smile._ Ransom leaned easily on the fence as she chatted to the young farmhand working at Merryfair farm. The dunmer told her his name, which she promptly forgot. She left her hood on, blaming the nonexistent chill in the early morning air, smiling gently at him with her eyes as much as her lips. She was relaxed, calm. Not once did her eyes so much as flicker in the direction of the barn where Thiessen was liberating the choicest of the Merryfair mares. She'd promised him five minutes to work his magic, and she was glad that was all she'd allowed him; her eyes were starting to droop by the time she'd finally managed to disentangle herself from the conversation.

She wandered back in the direction of Riften, but instead of taking a right up to the stables, she went into the woods to the left up a gentle embankment. A few minutes of walking brought her to their rendezvous point, where Thiessen was waiting, looking very proud of himself. In his hand was the reigns of a beautifully ordinary-looking chestnut mare, happily grazing.

"He looked pleased to see you," Thiessen purred.

"The hand? Well, he won't be once he realized what we've done... Only one?"

"You only give me five minutes, I only give you one horse. Besides," he gestured back and forth between them. "We are both small people, how many horses do we need?"

Ransom sighed audibly. "So I guess that's why you didn't bother to get a saddle?"

"This one thinks you're too soft for this job," Thiessen quipped, tail sweeping back and forth with an air of mischief. Ransom chuckled.

"This one thinks you're a stupid runt and should shut it," she hurled back, bumping against him intentionally as she walked past. "We should walk it for a couple miles before we pick up the road. I don't want anyone to see us." Thiessen flourished his hand out to the wilderness in front of them

"Lead on!"

They did their best to joke, but as they trekked deeper into the wilderness, things became more and more unrecognizable. That realization sank deep into the pits of their stomach. Certainly they had done jobs outside of the city, and they often came out to meet with the khajiit caravans that camped nearby, but they'd never been so far that they couldn't see Mistveil keep in the distance.

It took about an hour to find a way down from the hills and for Ransom to decide it was safe enough to ride. Thiessen was the horse wrangler of the two, and so he took the reigns as Ransom sat behind him, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

"Did I ever tell you the story of the Archery Lesson? The one I found in that tunnel near the meadery?"

"Only a thousand times," Thiessen said with a smile, "but tell me again," he urged gently. The words have barely left his mouth when the words of the book came pouring out of hers. Any time she became uncomfortable, she turned to her books and stories to fill up the fearful, unfamiliar space. Her favourite was the life of Barenziah. The first volume had been given to her by Madesi from the market, and since then she'd ravenously devoured the rest of them, acquiring them by any means. Thiessen didn't really listen, but he could feel her tense muscles relax as she talked. That made him relax.

* * *

They tied the mare up at a tree just outside of Ivarstead. If anyone recognized the horse, it was best not to be seen with it. They'd been given enough septums for a hot meal, but as Thiessen counted out the coins it became obvious that they'd be sleeping outside. He glanced up and Ransom.

"Hot food tonight or tomorrow morning?" he asked. She had her hands tucked under her armpits to try and warm them up. Her eyes flicked from the small purse to the warm lights of the Vilemyr inn.

"...Tonight," she decided. Thiessen nodded and tucked the purse into one of his pockets.

There weren't many eyes in Ivarstead, but it felt as if every single one of them were on the strange pair. Both reflexively put up their hoods to try and deflect the gazes. Thiessen was used to it, Ransom as well to a lesser extent, but both wanted to get out from under the withering suspicion of the townsfolk. The inn was mercifully empty, and the barkeep didn't give them more than a cursory glance. Apparently the possibility of spent gold was more important than the fact that a beast man was dirtying up the air he was breathing, and they were soon sat down in front of two bowls of stew and bread. Ransom tore off a big chunk of bread and dipped it before stuffing it tactlessly in her mouth.

"That apple wasn't enough for you?" Thiessen joked between more measured spoonfuls.

"Well I'm sorry I didn't have a lot of time to eat between getting you out and Frey sending us on this ludicrous mission… since when do we care what the bumpkins in Riverwood think of us?"

"Delvin's been looking to expand for as long as I've known him… I suppose it's as good a place as any."

"At least for chumps like us. I bet Vex is running amok in Windhelm as we speak."

"Mhmn, stealing silverware off the great Jarl Ulfric. Now that is a sight I'd love to see." He watched the heavy wooden door open over Ransom's shoulder, admitting a group of rowdy nords fresh from the nearby fields. "We should go." Ransom moved to object, but she realized with disappointment that he was right. The inn was starting to fill up with people that would remember their faces, and she'd managed to eat most of her meal without hardly noticing. Thiessen wrapped what was left of his bread in a strip of cloth and left a few coins on the table. It was less than the meal was worth, but they couldn't afford to be upstanding citizens on this trip.

It was colder now that the sun had set, and Ransom was glad to have a full belly. The stars were out, showing off their cold beauty. She let herself admire them as they walked back to their horse, until Thiessen interlaced his fingers with hers and stopped. She looked at him with confusion, but then she heard it, two guards talking. They were just on the other side of the trees, she would have walked right into them

"They said to be on the lookout for a chestnut mare, you think this is the one?"

"They'd've tied her up in town if they weren't trying to hide something. Dravin and Synda will be happy to have her back."

Thiessen gave Ransom a sad look; guess they were walking to Riverwood. He led her silently through the underbrush, keeping a hold on her hand in the darkness. They didn't stop until they could see Lake Gier. Near the water was a little cave, and he pulled her inside.

"Does it have to be here?" Ransom whimpered quietly, casting fearful looks down at the water. She watched intently for movement "There could be mudcrabs…" Thiessen took her wrist and pulled her gently down next to him. He wrapped his arm around her, and she pressed against him, trying to keep them both warm.

"Look how far we are from the water, nothing is going to come all this way for two scrawny runts like us. It would be best not to build a fire though, just in case." Ransom was afraid he would say that. It was summer in the southern part of Skyrim, but the nights still bit at you. She hugged him closer.

"Tonight cold stone and monsters, tomorrow a mountain path full of bandits."

"You did say you wanted us to find trouble together," Thiessen reminded her. She didn't reply, but he knew she was smiling.

They got up again before the sun rose, shared the little amount of bread Thiessen had saved, and set off, sneaking through the woods in the purplish mist of morning. They gave Ivarstead a wide berth, but it took longer than they expected. The place seemed to be crawling with Rift guards. Ransom tapped on the khajiit's shoulder as the latest patrol strolled past, feet from their position. The confusion in her face was clear: Why so many guards for a horse thief? He shook his head in reply. The guards thinned out the closer they got to the border, but they didn't move any less carefully, staying off the roads. They'd heard stories of caravans going missing on the very route they'd been ordered to take. Mostly it was assumed to be the work of bandits, but whispers of horrifying creatures hiding in the mountain pass made Ransom's blood run cold at every noise.

"Do you think the rumors about the ghouls are real?" she asked as the day wore on without incident. He shrugged.

"I doubt it. Peoples always embellish stories. Sitting in a tavern, a little too much mead, would you rather tell a story about bandits, or demon elves crawling out of the ground?"

"I heard someone at the Bee and Barb say that they looked like men, but they crawled along the ground on all fours and they screamed like animals, and they were all green and sickly like corpses."

"Probably a caravan guard enjoying one too many of Talon-Jai's cliff racers…" His voice faded away. Ransom glanced up from her frozen feet to see him staring intently into the distance, both ears twitching.

"Do you see that?" He pointed out over the mountains. Far away, a thick column of smoke billowed high into the sky. "It looks like a fire, but a whole town would have to be up in flames for that much smoke."

"I think I can still see it burning…"

Thiessen wrapped his hand around her wrist and pulled her off the road, through the high snow drifts, and behind a tall rock formation. She looked at him in confusion. He pressed a finger to his lips, then silently drew his bow and hand made arrows. Ransom put a hand on the hilt of a sword. She'd never killed anyone before, but she wasn't above distracting an attacker so Thiessen could get off a shot.

It took about a minute before she could hear what he heard; creaky wagon wheels, slowly coming towards them, and horses hooves. She leaned carefully out from behind the rocks just as the small caravan came into view. The horses were carrying guards bearing the sigil of the Whiterun hold, and they were guiding a small gaggle of disheveled nords. One older man was pulling the squeaky cart, which held a few sacks and possessions. They were walking in complete silence, heads down, faces full of despair. It almost felt like ghosts were passing in front of them. The two thieves waited until the group had trudged out of sight before they continued.

It only got worse as their trek continued. Blackened, charred trees began to appear on the path. Soon, they were confronted by the barred doors of Helgen. Smoke was still billowing out from behind the doors, and there was no doubt that the sad company that had just passed were the only survivors.

"What could have done this… bandits?"

"A clan strong enough to topple a town and its guard? I don't think so… you don't think so do you?"

"I don't want to find out. Let's get out of here."

* * *

"Anyone coming?"

"Nope, doesn't look like there's a single soul in this town."

"Good, I like it that way. Blow on this." Thiessen held up his lock pick, and Ransom dutifully complied. Then he set to it, making short work of the lock on the front door of the Riverwood Trader. The hinges of the store were well oiled, and they swung open without a sound. The inside smelled like fresh food and expensive herbs. Ransom instinctively grabbed a nearby apple as she looked around the dark room, then went back out onto the porch. Usually she would be the one rooting through the shelves, but on night raids they had a system: Ransom would stay outside and watch for passerby, while Thiessen would ransack the joint more easily with his sensitive eyes.

"It's not here," he hissed quietly. She glanced over her shoulder in alarm. He was out of sight, but she could hear faint rustling as Thiessen moved bottles and scraps of parchment behind the counter. She was going to remind him what Frey said, that the claw should have been sitting right out on the counter, but it was pointless. Even from where she was standing it was obvious that nothing that even vaguely resembling a gaunt dragon hand was anywhere in sight. She glanced back and forth along the main road. Not even a chicken to raise anyone's suspicion.

"Maybe they hid it?" she whispered back, slipping into the room and closing the door until the latch sat gently at the frame, not quite shut. Thiessen was doing a thorough search of the many shelves, so she checked the other side of the room. Under the stairs were several shipping barrels. On the floor behind them was a locked chest. She smirked. _Gotcha._ Out came her lockpick. She blew on it as she had Thiessen's and inserted it into the lock. The ches was old and the lock clumsy, and she barely had to think to get it to turn. Her fingers had done it so many times that they practically guided themselves.

Even if she hadn't screamed as the fire salts scattered into her eyes, the explosion of the trap bag was loud enough to wake up all of Whiterun hold. She tumbled backwards onto the carpet even as Thiessen dove to catch her. She scratched at her face, tears flowing from her blinded eyes. She could smell her skin sizzle. There was shouting from upstairs. Thiessen threw one of her arms over his shoulders and wheeled around to escape, but three guards already barred the door, pikes lowered and ready. A middle aged imperial man came rushing down the stairs, lantern held aloft, laughing like a mad man.

"I told you! You thought I was crazy but I _told_ you Camilla, I knew they would come back. My claw wasn't enough for you eh? What did you want this time? My gold, my life?!"

Thiessen didn't reply. There was nothing to say, and Ransom was writhing in agony in his arms. He tried to brush the salt off her burning skin, but jerked away reflexively. One touch sent a heat he'd never felt before coursing through his hand, singeing the hairs on his palm and fingers. Before he had a chance to try again, two sets of arms grabbed each of his and hauled him to his feet, wrenching her out of his grasp. She curled up in a ball, choking back sobs of terror and pain. Thiessen tried desperately to free himself from the iron grasp of the guards, but one punch from the remaining nord sent him slack in their hands. He then grabbed a fistful of Ransom's hair and yanked her up as well.

"Put these rats in chains."


	3. Chapter 3

The cart jerked violently as it hit another pothole in the road. Thiessen locked his teeth together to stifle a groan as it rocked his spine yet again. He was freezing, every joint ached. After being dragged from the Riverwood Trader to a small, windowless room, they'd been roughed up. The bruises on his back and arms were just starting to raise. He could barely see out his right eye. He'd gotten the worst of it, coming up with a convincing story about losing the claw to bandits in the mountains before they'd had too much of a chance to start on Ransom. She had her own problems. In the two days that they'd had to rot before the cart had come to collect them, her sight had returned, but it seemed like the skin on her cheek and near her lip on the right side would be forever pockmarked.

She was asleep now, her head in his lap, curled up in a little ball. They had been sleeping in shifts as they were transported along the winding mountain path from Riverwood. He wasn't sure exactly where they were going, but from the flurries that spiralled through the air, and the strange uniform of the guards who marched along next to the wagon, he could be certain they weren't going back to Riften. He wasn't sure how he was going to break that to Ransom. He'd heard stories of holds that cut off the hands of thieves, or hung everyone found guilty of a crime. They'd managed to avoid the worst of it back in Riften. Being a member of the thieves guild meant they were under the protection of Maven.

Another bump jostled Ransom awake. She sat up slowly, rubbing her neck.

"It's colder than before," she moaned.

"We're going farther north, to Whiterun maybe."

"Oh gods, please no..." The guard walking at the back shoved the butt of his pike through the bars, striking Ransom hard in the ribs.

"Quiet!" He barked threateningly. Ransom shrank away, leaning on Thiessen and resting her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her to keep her warm.

"Do you think we'll stay together?" she whispered. He shook his head, he didn't know. He wasn't even sure if he would live through this encounter, but he didn't have the heart to tell her that. She knew as well as he did that the nords of skyrim held no love for their kinds.

Slowly, the lonely cart descended from the mountains, into a wide open field. Off in the distance, the weathered palisades of Whiterun could be seen. Below them was an opulent, impressive estate. The family that owned it came out to watch as they passed, and it looked like one of the hands held eggs. Thiessen caught their eye and held it, giving them the most withering look he could manage. _If you throw those, I'll find you and strangle you._ They passed the estate without incident, but there were more farms on the way, more people standing out to watch the wretched fools as they were taken to meet their fate. They pointed and whispered, and Thiessen was filled with the overwhelming feeling of being on display.

He was distracted by a scream nearby, a mother with curious children. She was screaming and running for cover, grabbing their tiny hands and dragging them along behind her. A huge shadow slid fast over the ground. He didn't have enough time to find its source before the flames engulfed him.

x

XxX

x

"A dragon? At Helgen?" Eyvindur exclaimed breathlessly, hands tight on the reigns as his sturdy horse raced across the countryside. His heart was beating so hard it felt as if his chest could not contain it. A dragon. Finally, after centuries of waiting, his family could serve their true purpose once more. He could serve his true purpose. He glanced over at Herrgund with wild excitement burning in his eyes. It made the old nord laugh.

"You're the only man on the face of Tamriel that would find joy in this news."

"Maybe the jarl knows where it's headed!" he laughed, even more adrenaline pumping into his veins as they came upon the crest of their mountain could be seen down below. One of the larger cities of Skyrim, there were farms and farmland scattered all around it. Dragonsreach soared high above the walls, and Eyvindur thought it fitting that he would get word of his first dragon from the Jarl of a true nord city, and the site of Numinex's prison. It would be a tale to tell his children's children.

A snap of the reigns, and his steed Gyllir started down the mountain path as quickly as Eyvindur dared to urge. It was craggy and narrow, and he knew it was a risky spot for any creature. Herrgund followed behind more slowly. Eyvindur was eager to hunt down the beast before it could do any more damage, but his friend was older and not fit for travelling with such fervor. He would have to leave him at Whiterun.

They made it into the field about the same time as a cart full of miserable-looking prisoners. Most of them were nord and imperial men, but two strange creatures were huddled together at the back trying to keep warm. One appeared to be a dunmer, clutching desperately to the front of a khajiit. The sight made him smirk; another beast on the wrong side of the law. He'd be hanging from the city walls by sundown.

A scream snapped his attention away from the cart. A woman standing near the stables. He saw the shadow pass over her, and a moment later, the beast came into view. A giant spined monster, with wings that stretched out impossibly far. It roared with a voice that sent shivers down his spine. It took in a great breath.

"_Yol,"_ it breathed, and fire spewed from its mouth, engulfing the road, the carriage, and the windmill of the nearby Pelagia farm. Nords scattered in all directions. The dragon laughed horribly. In the distance, Whiterun soldiers began pouring out of the Western Watchtower. Arrows flew into the sky, piercing through its hide.

Eyvindur didn't see any of this. As soon as he'd heard its roar, he'd dismounted. Off his back came his weapon, a specially made crossbow nearly the height of a man. One of its bolts was more like a spear than an arrow. He put it in and cranked it back in time for Herrgund to dismount and take his place crouched on the ground next to him.

"Shoot true, dragonborn!" He roared as the flames blazed across the landscape, turning the grasses to ash.

"Talos guide me," he whispered to his bolt. It let fly with such force that he had difficulty holding the bow steady. It arced gracefully in the air, before coming down dead in the centre of his foe's back. The dragon shrieked in pain, jerking suddenly and tumbling out of the sky. It hit the ground and skidded into the base of the Western Watchtower, rocking the entire landscape. Eyvindur threw the great crossbow on his back and remounted his horse faster than a man of his size should have been able.

It was back up when he closed in on the watchtower, shaking its massive, horned head. Guards were swarming around it like ants, but it ignored them, looking around for something in particular. It's cold, black eyes settled on Evyindur.

"_Hin,_" it hissed. You. He dismounted and readied his blade. A strange calm came over him. He felt his amulet of Talos against his chest. His hands gripped the leather wrapped hilt tightly. His feet dug into the earth, ready as the dragon clawed up the path towards him, gaping mouth open, sword-like teeth coming for him. Gyllir reared and ran. Herrgund cried out for him.

It was a man's width away from him before he swung his broadsword. It crashed into the dragon's jaw with a sickening crunch, cutting through scale, flesh, and chipping bone. It's head jerked to the side, taken off guard by the nord's strength. He struck again, this time stabbing through its huge eye. It lunged for him, but with a missing eye it seemed disoriented, throwing him instead of grabbing him up in its maw. He was tossed like a ragdoll but somehow managed to maintain a hold on his sword. When the dragon came around for a second strike, he was ready. He launched himself under its open mouth and at its neck. His sword cut through its flesh so deep it almost nicked the spine. He'd missed his target, but the wound would do the job. Crimson poured down onto the nord.

The dragon didn't attack anymore. It kept glancing around oddly, like it wasn't quite sure why its life was draining out its throat. Eventually its remaining eye came to rest on Eyvindur.

"_Dovahkin,_" it gurgled, more a question than a threat. Eyvindur sheathed his sword, triumphant.

"Indeed, beast. I am dragonborn, my blood goes back generations."

It grunted at him in reply, something that would have been a laugh if it had made it past the fatal wound. A tiny flame flickered into life at the tip of one wing. The dragon managed to draw in a deep final breath. It fanned the flame like bellows, and it took off along the lines of the dragon's body, cremating it from within. From the mouth, a swirling white light came pouring out. Eyvindur watched in amazement. It was exactly how the ancient texts had described.

The white light of the dragon soul shot towards him. He closed his eyes and prepared to receive it, silently thanking Mighty Talos for the strength to defeat such a monster.

He waited.

Nothing happened.


	4. Chapter 4

Alarm built up in his throat. He opened his eyes and looked down. The white light was flowing right into him. He could hear it whispering in the dragon tongue.

Through him. It was flowing right through him.

A cry of agony forced him to turn. He watched in horror as the light enveloped an onlooker crouching nearby. No, not just an onlooker, one of the vagabonds from the ruined carriage. She screamed and screamed, trying to fight it off. He should have helped her, but he couldn't move. Eventually, the light faded, finding its way into her own soul. She fell onto her hands and was sick. He approached her slowly. Nothing felt quite real. She was barely clothed, her rough tunic burnt to cinders despite the fact that her dunmer skin was unblemished. She looked underfed, even by waifish elf standards. Her eyes looked around wildly, trying to get up, but stumbling back down.

"Please," she finally managed to choke out, her right hand reaching out to him. He noticed an odd scar running across it. "Please he… he needs… please help… he, help," she mumbled stupidly, pointing at a body next to her. He'd assumed it was a corpse, but he realized that the unlucky khajiit was still gasping in ragged breaths.

"Take this one to Whiterun," he ordered the guards, waving his hand in the direction of the dunmer, who was still attempting to speak unintelligibly. The one nearest wrapped a thick arm around her waist and picked her up easily. Eyvindur then turned his attention to the beast. Everyone else in the area was dead, and he'd caught a bad break by being left to suffer a few minutes longer. There was only one merciful thing to do.

He reached for the hilt of his sword.

x

XxX

x

Ransom's ear were ringing, but she was aware of the fact that she was screaming. It felt like her skin had peeled off. It hurt so much, her brain was having trouble comprehending it. She remembered a shadow, a dragon. No, that can't be right. Dragons weren't real.

She felt the dirt and grass under her fingers as her skin grew back, and she scrambled over the ground on all fours. Only one thought pounded against the inside of her head, crowding out every other: Where was Thiessen? Her vision was white and fuzzy, and she had to crawl slowly along as it came back for the second time. Her hand connected with something charred and flakey. It smelled like burnt meat. She leaned in close.

It was a leg. She reared back in horror.

"Thiessen!" She screamed, looking frantically around at the carnage. She could see a couple metres away now, enough to see the upturned carriage, the dead bodies. The box full of the prisoner's belongings was open, its contents strewn about everywhere. "Thiessen?!" She saw a fleck of beige and brown between the heavy black bodies of the giant horses that had been pulling the cart. She tried to get up but her legs collapsed under her, and she had to crawl.

He was on his stomach, still as the grave. He didn't respond even as Ransom screamed his name. With a great deal of trouble and pain, she managed to roll him over. He looked even worse from the front. His whole left side was black as charcoal. Bits of his skin had fallen off, showing angry red, furless flesh. He was staring up at the sky, eyes wide in pain. At least, one was, the other one was lost in the black. His chest was heaving, breath coming in quick, wheezing gasps. She called his name again. It took him far longer than is should have to look around and notice her. He reached out his right, relatively undamaged hand. She clasped it helplessly.

"Are… you?" he choked.

"I'm okay! I'm okay," she promised.

"...Am I..?"

It took her longer to answer. "You're okay. Thiessen, you're going to be okay. I'll just have to…" she looked back over at the possessions chest. She'd had a small vial of potion tucked into her armour. She could see the thick red liquid oozing out of the box. "You have to be okay!" She wailed. He gripped her arm and pulled her close. She could smell his charred flesh.

"You have to go. While you still can… get out." She nodded. Her brain understood what he was saying. Whatever had caused the fire would return, and all their guards were dead. If she was going to get away, now would be the time to do it. Her brain understood, but her body stayed rooted, her hands tightly gripping his.

"Can you walk?" she whimpered stupidly. He didn't waste his breath to answer her. Instead, he slipped his hand gently out of hers and looked over at the wide expanse of field. Run while you still can.

An unearthly roar clipped her attention. She looked up and blinked. She had been so focussed on Thiessen she hadn't even noticed the war going on at the watchtower nearby. A nord warrior was locked in a deathmatch with something out of her nightmares: Black scales, a massive, muscular body, and a single hate filled eye. Had she not been so terrified, she would have recognized it from descriptions in some of her books, but her brain could not put two and two together. She picked up Thiessen's hand again, and he didn't resist. This can't be happening. She'd fallen asleep reading her books in the Cistern. She was having a nightmare.

And then it was dead. Two dozen soldiers had sent volley after volley of arrows into it, and it had hardly noticed. This man, clad in northern furs and wearing no hold symbol, had dealt the killing blow almost on his own.

"It's going to be okay," she promised Thiessen. "We're going to be okay. He'll…" A strange noise cut her off. It sounded like singing from afar, but in a language she didn't recognize. "Can you hear that?" she asked. He didn't reply. The strange music grew in volume until it was pressing against her eardrums, but there was still no obvious source.

"_Dovahkin,_" a gurgling voice echoed in her skull. It burned like she was on fire all over again. She clutched at her skull, trying to understand everything that was happening. She looked up just in time to watch the dragon's soul flow out of its mouth, into the waiting nord. Through the nord, and directly at her. She tried to dive out of the way, but it followed her, and soon it was on her.

"_Aakeksil. Qahnaarin, Ronaan, sah, tafiir. Yol, liz, fus…"_ The words pounded against her head, filling her until she thought she would split open. The light was all around her, obscuring everything else. She was screaming again. She lashed out blindly, but there was nothing to attack when the agony came from within. She doubled over and retched. Eventually, the light dissipated, the voice still muttering nonsense. The nord was standing over her.

"You?" he asked, the look on his face a mix of surprise and disgust. She reached her hand out to him. The world was spinning and she thought she might be sick again, but now that the voice had quieted she had room in her head again for her most pressing fear.

"Please...Please he… he needs… please help… he, help." She fought her tongue desperately to make a coherent sentence. Please, he needs help. He needs to see a mage or he is going to die. It was obvious and urgent, but somewhere between her tongue and her lips it became a jumbled mess. The nord shook his head in disbelief.

"Take this one to Whiterun," he ordered. Something wrapped around her waist and she was lifted up and put on her feet but they gave out underneath her. She was lifted up again, and this time she was practically carried. The motion was enough to send her head spinning all over again. They were taking her away, but she could see Thiessen still laying on the ground. Why was no one helping him? The dragon slayer stood over him thoughtfully. They guard that was carrying her from the field hefted her higher, turning away from them both. With some struggle, she managed to look over his shoulder. Just in time to see the nord's heavy blade rise over Thiessen's broken body.

"No!" The guard didn't expect her to break his grip so easily. Ransom didn't expect her legs to carry her back to Thiessen, much less give her the strength to throw herself onto his assailant. She used all the force she had in her body to try and topple him. He stumbled when her body made contact with his, but other than lowering his sword it didn't do much. She balled her hands up into fists and struck at his face.

"No!" she screamed again as the nord sheathed his blade and grabbed at both of her wrists. She started kicking him instead, anything to make him stop. He picked her up and threw her, slamming her into the ground so hard she swore she heard something crack. She got back up anyways, grabbing a nearby rock. She stood before him, unsteady but defiant, and prepared to strike again. Eyvindur countered her sloppy attacks easily, grabbing her arm and wrenching the rock out of her hand. Two guards came up on either side of her, grabbing her up and subduing her. She screamed and fought like a wild animal, but her burst of strength was dwindling. Eyvindur looked over at the beast she was protecting.

"Bring that one too," he sighed in defeat. A guard nearby scooped up the khajiit in his arms and followed close behind the dunmer. Eyvindur watch them go, feeling heavy and hollow. A heavy hand landed on his shoulder. Herrgund. He was looking at him with an expression of pure sorrow.

"Jarl Balgruff must be informed."

Eyvindur nodded numbly. They brought up the rear of the pathetic little convoy on it's way to Whiterun

x

xXx

x

_Mighty Talos, please, tell me where I fail you._

Eyvindur scrunched his eyes closed even tighter in concentration. He had been kneeling at the foot of Talos' statue for hours, hands clasped in prayer, practically begging for some sign from above that he was being heard. The cold air was mercifully lacking the usual fanatical preaching of Heimskr, who was off sulking after being shooed away. Eyvindur needed time alone with his god. Now, his hands were growing cold, and he couldn't feel his knees, and Talos seemed no closer to providing him with divine insight. This was his mission, his calling. He could track his blood back to the dragon slaying ancestors of old. Without, there was nothing inside him but a chill colder than any he'd ever felt before.

_Why this girl instead of me? This dark elf stray instead of a devoted son of Skyrim. I only wish to serve you, Talos. Please, let me serve…_

His knuckes were starting to go white from the strength of his own grip, and he could feel tears stinging his eyes, so he dejectedly picked himself up from his prostrations and dusted himself off. He inspected the massive statue one more time, looked into the eyes of the serpent dying under Talos' blade.

"Are you quite finished yet?" the irritating voice of Heimskr asked at his elbow. "Some of us have important work to do, spreading the holy word."

His comment struck a little to close to home, and it was all Eyvindur could do to pick up his horned helm and walk away instead of striking the tiny man. He slowly heaved himself up the many steps to the cloud district. Every part of him felt a little bit heavier than it had been just a few hours ago. He walked in a fog, not even hearing the voices of the many nobles calling his name in greeting. The guards of Whiterun nodded to him as he approached Dragonsreach, and opened the impressive carved doors without a word.

Herrgund was sitting at the long table, the first major installation in the enormous great hall of the castle. It was well adorned with food for the jarl's guests, but Herrgund was nursing only a bottle of nord mead, looking very grim indeed. Eyvindur sat down across from him.

"Any word from the jarl?" he asked mechanically. Herrgund shook his head.

"He's in council now, deciding what is to be done about all this. She's been in hysterics since they brought her here, and the beast is barely hanging on…" He looked cautiously up at Eyvindur, who was milling over his own bottle. "Did you hear the Grey Beards call?"

"Yes. It happened while I was praying. There's no doubt now."

"Damn and blast, Eyvindur, how could this be? There's no man in all of Skyrim worthier than you."

"No man, no…"

"And now, what do we have, some filthy dark elf half breed? It just can't be."

"Half breed?" Eyvindur breathed in horror.

"The housecarl here is sure of it. She says to me, 'have you ever seen an elf with the eyes of a nord?' Some dirty blooded thing they've got locked up there, disgusting."

Eyvindur put his head in his hands. It got worse, it could only get worse. Herrgund watched him sadly.

"I'm going home in the morning, I think it's best you come with me. Maybe you're not meant to be the dragonborn, but Ulfric would take you with open arms."

"Perhaps that would be best," Eyvindur agreed weakly. The sound of heavy boots on the wood floor made him look up. Balgruuf's housecarl, Irileth, was coming towards them with a purposeful stride. He glared at her and looked away. The last thing he needed was to deal with some dark elf. She either didn't see his withering gaze, or she ignored it.

"Balgruuf and the council want to speak with you," she told him flatly. He glanced at Herrgund, who shrugged. Eyvindur rose from his seat and followed Irileth past the throne at the far end of the great hall and up a flight of stairs. On the second story, a gaggle of older men were bent over a table, engaged in furious conversation. They all quieted as Eyvindur came near, parting to give him a clear line of sight to the jarl, who looked troubled. He looked up at the nord with a hard expression on his face.

"The girl is the dragonborn?" he asked simply. Eyvindur nodded. The crowd broke into frantic whispers again as they rehashed the details of the dragon attack. Eyvindur listened, only breaking in to comment when necessary. Balgruuf eventually held up his hand, and they all fell silent.

"She must go to High Hrothgar immediately."

"Yes, ser, but I don't know if she will go willingly."

"Oh trust me, she'll be willing enough when she finds out I'm the only reason the khajiit is still alive," Farengar said calmly. "If she's as desperate to protect him as you say, she'll do what we tell her in order to keep him safe."

"Still," Balgruuf said, "she's no warrior. You were the one that slayed the dragon, not her. I don't think she could make it up the 7000 Steps on her own. I want you to go with her. I understand that this must be difficult for you, but you are still the one and only dragonslayer."

"...Of course, Jarl Balgruuf." He agreed uneasily. He almost declined, but then he thought of his petition to Talos. At least, in this way, he could serve.

"I'll prepare her," Irileth volunteered, "she may still need some convincing."

"Try not to scare her," Balgruuf sighed. Irileth didn't reply, but she had a look on her face that said she wouldn't be trying too hard. Eyvindur watched her depart but didn't follow her. He didn't want to see their dark elf prisoner at that moment, so he busied himself with the details of their trip instead. Eventually though, he could put it off no longer, and he trudged to the estate room that held her captive. The door was open, and he could hear strange noises coming out of it, like an animal choking.

"...and if you so much as think about running away, I'll have you dragged back here in chains, and you'll live just long enough to see your khajiit's head nailed to the walls of Dragonreach, understand?"

Eyvindur cautiously entered. Ransom was pinned to the wall by Irileth, who's gauntleted hand was wrapped around her throat. Ransom was coughing and choking, both her hands wrapped around Irileth's wrist. She nodded weakly, and Irileth released her. Ransom fell heavily backwards, touching her neck and breathing oddly.

"She's ready for you," Irileth said, stepping out of the way and exiting the room. Ransom looked up at him, but didn't hold his gaze. Eyvindur nervously glanced the way Irileth had gone.

"Did she tell you your fate?"

"I'm going with you to Ivarstead."

"That's right. We are to leave as soon as we are able." He glanced at the bed and saw a set of decent, full body leather armour laid out for her. "Is there anything else you need?"

"I want to see Thiessen," she demanded angrily. Her voice was stern, but her eyes didn't rise from the floor, it was a strange sight.

"I'm sure that can be arranged as long as you cooperate."

She didn't reply, just used the wall as a support to haul herself back to her feet. She crossed the room slowly, favouring her right leg, and sat down on the bed to sort out the chest piece.

"Are you hurt?" he asked suspiciously.

"I'm fine, just give me a hand with this."

"You need help to put on your own armour?"

"This isn't my armour, it's Thiessen's," she explained as she slipped her arms through a the set of leather sleeves and buckled them under her bust. "I tried to explain that to that woman… Nevermind, I'll manage."

Eyvindur watched awkwardly as she went about dressing herself. The jacket-like chest piece went over her head next and she fumbled with the straps that criss-crossed it, trying to tighten it properly. Thick plates covered her shoulders and upper arms, and she strapped bracers to her forearm.

"Satisfied?" she asked as she tightened the buckles on her boots. Those, at least, were hers. Eyvindur nodded, and stepped aside to let her pass. He guided her down through Dragonsreach and into the dungeons. They weren't like what she was used to from Riften. They were underground, dark, and wet. The stonework felt slimy and oppressive around her. Her heart broke as she thought of the time Thiessen would spend here alone. A door clanged open at the very end of the hall, and the darkly robed Farengar stepped out.

"Good evening, Eyvindur, dragonborn. The beast man is alive, although it may have been kinder to let him pass. He is weak but I'm confident he will recover under my attention."

Ransom pushed past him, garnering a slew of hard looks from guards, which she ignored. Her attention was solely focussed on the cell's one inhabitant. He was laying on the floor, under a few thin blankets. Most of his body was covered in bandages, freshly changed and white. One bleary eye opened as she approached, and a familiar smile flashed. Ransom dropped to her knees next to him, gripping his offered hand tightly and looking him over. Somehow, it seemed worse than she remembered it. He looked like a freshly wrapped corpse.

"Where have you been?" he asked, concern obvious despite the hoarseness of his voice. "When I woke and you weren't here, I was sure they'd taken you away forever…"

"No, I'm afraid you're not rid of me yet."

"The magician says I will live,. Though, I don't know why they would save me just to hang me. Do you think they will send us back to Riften instead? Maven is known here."

"I don't think they'll send us home… I think… maybe they'll have mercy on us."

"Nords are not ones for mercy." He glanced over Ransom's shoulder and saw Eyvindur standing at the door, watching them. The look on Thiessen's face said he remembered everything. "I want to ask you if you've bargained for my life, but I'm afraid of what I might hear."

"There wasn't any bargaining. They want me to go to High Hrothgar or they kill us both."

"Then a bargain was made… just not one in our favour. Where is High Hrothgar?"

"Near Ivarstead, I think… they think I'm a hero, and some men on a mountaintop are calling me."

"Heh, won't they be disappointed… is that my armour?" He rolled her hand over in his to inspect a symbol stitched into the brown hide. He'd sewn it himself, in the same colour as the leather so it was almost impossible to see unless you ran your hand over it.

"Yes. They said I could have my own, but I don't know what they'd do with these, so I took them."

"I'm glad. It won't do me any good here. Take my bow and arrows too, if you can find them. Then, it will be like taking me with you."

"I don't want to leave without you. We were supposed to find trouble together."

"We did find trouble… let's not do it again, alright? I don't think I can take much more of this," he chuckled good-naturedly. He squeezed her hand lightly when her sad face didn't change. "I wasn't so sad when the fire came, you know. It hurt, but I knew, well, I thought it would only hurt for a little while, and then I'd be gone. I wasn't sad, because it was fire, and I knew you'd be safe in the end. Just be safe, Ransom, and don't worry about me. I'll stay here and be a good boy and not give you any reason to fret. And Ransom…" he tugged on her a little, and she leaned in close, "remember to look out for yourself, before anyone else, understand?"

Eyvindur coughed loudly, and she leaned back automatically. They didn't say anything else, just spent a few more minutes sitting and enjoying the feeling of being in the same room together. The Divines only knew when they could possibly enjoy the privilege again. Thiessen's grip seemed to get weaker and weaker as they sat, making a rock grow in Ransom's stomach.

"Dragonborn," Eyvindur finally said. Her eyes squeezed tight shut to try and block out his next words, but they came anyways. "We can't keep the Greybeards waiting."


End file.
